


breathe in

by weatheredlaw



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Post-War, Anxiety, Depression, F/M, Implied Relationships, M/M, Mild Language, Mild Sexual Content, Muteness, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rare Pairings, Relationship Discussions, Self-Hatred, Social Anxiety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-28
Updated: 2014-08-28
Packaged: 2018-02-15 03:04:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2213385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weatheredlaw/pseuds/weatheredlaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Sheila smiles. Caboose likes that he can make her do that.</i> </p><p>or: Caboose comes back from the war, and everything is sometimes too much. But he's dealing with it, one day at a time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	breathe in

**Author's Note:**

> this got really big, really fast. there's a lot of stuff in here that could be triggering, and some discussions and representations of ptsd, post-war emotions and issues. i've done a lot of research on it, but i'll obviously never be an expert. caboose is so incredibly important to me, and i don't see a lot of modern au's that explore him as a vet as well, so i wanted to do that here. it's essentially an exploration of his personal self-worth and how he sees himself and taking things as they come. hopefully i do this some justice, but again, i can never claim to be an expert.
> 
> also if you think caboose/sheila isn't one of my AU otp's, then i guess you're not paying attention. i'm not sorry fandom.

Caboose opens the door to his old apartment, the dust escaping through the first opening it's seen in three years. He coughs, despite the fact that dust lives in his bones and lungs, has set up camp in the back of his head and will live there forever. There's a quiet dripping noise coming from the sink that immediately sets him on edge and he knows he'll have to fix that before he completely loses it. 

_You are okay. You are fine._

It's very easy to think that, to sometimes even say it. 

Caboose calls his mother and thanks her for paying his rent. She cries a lot. 

It's the first time she's heard his voice in two years.

 

 

 

"Okay, Mr. Caboose." He hates it when people say that. His name sounds made up when they say it like that. "What did you do before Afghanistan?" 

"I studied engineering in college, but I dropped out."

"Why?" He shrugs. It's hard to explain what happened to him to other people. Telling people he was too sad to go to class doesn't explain it. 

It felt like someone had locked him in a dark room, and the room got bigger and wider and darker, and the ground got thick and sticky, and the door just kept getting farther away, and no one could hear him, and no one was knocking, even when he thought they were. 

Telling people that is hard, too. So he doesn't. 

"Would you like to go back?"

"Not really."

The woman sighs, looking through his resume. Before school and the war, he bussed tables, worked at a movie theater, checked in guests at a hotel. He looks at her, knowing she thinks what everyone else does -- that he sucks, that he's a loser, that he will always be his own black hole, sucking from the inside out, eating away at himself until all that's left are the worst parts he didn't want anyone to see.

"Do you know how to make coffee?" she asks.

Yeah. He can make coffee. He can definitely make coffee. 

 

 

 

"Okay, so this is the steamer. It's for cappuccinos and shit like that. This is where the cups go. Uh, if people order pastries they're here. You warm them in that oven, but I'll have to teach you that later because the settings on it are like, super weird. The register is pretty easy. We're not a fucking Starbucks, so we don't have eighty sizes and sixty-two flavors of syrup or whatever. We sell coffee. That's it." 

Caboose is standing behind the counter in the middle of Canyon Roasts, a coffee shop downtown started by a vet and his girlfriend that only hires other vets, but not their girlfriends. Which Church made very clear. He would not hire Caboose's girlfriend. Caboose decides not to tell him he is aggressively single, lonely, alone and exhausted. Because he figures Church probably already knows that, he's just making a joke. Caboose isn't good at jokes. 

"If you have any questions, ask Tucker. He's coming in around nine. He has to take his kid to school or something." 

"Okay."

"I need to pay the rent and a bunch of other stuff. If something explodes, just come get me." Church pushes open the swinging doors into the back of the shop and suddenly Caboose is alone, with a couple customers scattered around. He looks at the register, which only has a few options, and then inspects the grinder, which definitely looks more complicated than the register. It's probably a miracle that no one orders anything before Tucker gets in, pulling his hair back and opting to slide over the counter instead of using the tiny, silly swinging door that Church told him he had to use always, all the time.

"Yo, you're the new guy, right?"

"I'm Caboose."

"Fuck, are you serious?"

"My last name is Caboose."

"Okay, dude." Tucker takes his hand and grins. "I'm Tucker. Sorry I couldn't be here for your training. My kid has school at eight."

"It's fine. Church told me about the steamer."

Tucker laughs. "He's fucking obsessed with the steamer, we just got it like, four months ago. Sometimes he fucking talks to it, it's hilarious. If you see him doing it, come get me. Or text me. I love watching him do that." Tucker pulls his apron on and starts pulling some cups from under the counter. "Just watch me today, okay?" Caboose nearly sobs with relief, because the idea of talking to anyone else makes him want to crawl under one of the cabinets and sleep all day -- just listening to people order things stresses him out, and he can tell Tucker doesn't enjoy it all that much either. 

"How do you do that?" Caboose asks quietly, when there's finally a lull. Tucker looks up from where he's counting the dollar bills in the tip jar. "The talking thing."

"To people?" Caboose nods. To anyone else, this conversation might look ridiculous, but Tucker gets it. Caboose likes that he can use as few words as possible with him. "I don't know, man. You just gotta take it one day at a time. And you gotta remember that, eventually? You get to stop." He gestures to the empty space in front of the counter. "Sometimes it feels like you'll be doing it forever, but I promise. You'll get your quiet." Tucker tilts his head and smiles. "Don't worry, you can start on the register when you're ready, okay?"

It's Tucker's promise that gets Caboose out of bed every morning for the next week, knowing he won't need to be ready until he's really _ready_.

 

 

 

The first week at the shop goes pretty well. Caboose talks to one customer, a little bit, when she asks for some more sugar packets. He grabs too many and she stares at him for just a moment, taking two and going back to her table. Caboose stands behind the counter, fifteen sugar packs in one hand, shaking until Church pries them from his fingers and sends him outside to take a break. 

That's the day he meets the sandwich guys. 

"Grif, you can't smoke out here."

"I swear to _God_ , Simmons, I'll hit you. I will."

"Sarge is gonna--" The two men quit squabbling when they see Caboose, coming out the backdoor with his hands crammed into his pockets, probably looking just about as sick as he feels. "Hey, man, you okay?" He nods. Simmons is the one not smoking, and he comes closer, looking Caboose up and down, and keeps his distance, which Caboose appreciates. "You guys busy in there?" 

"Kind of."

"We just ended our lunch rush. I'm Simmons. That asshole is Grif." Grif doesn't say anything or bother to correct him. He just waves his cigarette and Caboose nods. There's a quiet understanding here, that they are all on the same page, and may have, once, come from the same place. Caboose knows from the employment office that the sandwich place is owned by a vet, too, but there weren't any openings there. Which sucks because Caboose likes sandwiches more than coffee, but he also likes having a job.

"I'm Caboose."

"Hey, he's got a dumb name like Donut."

" _Grif._ "

"Whatever." Grif drops his cigarette and turns around. "I'm going back. You two have fun." He heads across the alleyway and through the backdoor of the sandwich place.

"He's an asshole," Simmons explains, which Caboose could have figured out just by listening to Grif for five minutes, but he doesn't say anything. "How's work?"

"Um." Caboose doesn't like the amount of eye contact Simmons is apparently comfortable making, and instead stares at his feet, wondering if he could break his knuckles, if he shoved his hands any harder into his pockets. 

"I gotta go," Simmons says. "Nice to meet you, Caboose."

"Mmhm." Simmons heads back inside and Caboose has to stay out there another ten minutes, because he hadn't come outside just to keep fucking talking to people. He wants to hit something, maybe. Or sleep. They both sound like good ideas. No one comes out to get him, though, so he figures he should probably head back inside and actually do his job. Getting fired isn't something he feels like doing today. 

Tucker is wiping down the counter when he comes in. "You feeling better?" Caboose shrugs. "Oh, hey, you can meet my kid."

_No more people, no more people--_

"Junior doesn't talk," Tucker says, not looking up. "He hears you just fine, but he's mute. I mean, they told me he could maybe learn to talk, but he's pretty happy right now, and he isn't having much trouble in school, so I don't think it's anything to worry about. My mom gets all worked up about it, but she's my mom, you know?" Caboose just keeps nodding, because it's like this muscle memory thing now. He just nods and goes along with it, and silently hopes he can sneak away early to go home and stare at his ceiling until tomorrow.

A woman who is probably Tucker's mother brings Junior in around two. She stays and chats and Caboose avoids her by going into the back and standing in the fridge. When Tucker comes back to get him, he just opens the door, asks if he wants out, and holds it open. Caboose goes back out to find a small, tinier version of Tucker sitting on the counter. "This is Junior." Junior waves. He has headphones plugged into an iPod, but he takes them out when Caboose comes out. "This is Caboose." Junior gets excited and signs something. Tucker shakes his head. "No, not like a train. Like a name. It's his name." 

Junior has a really nice smile, and Caboose feels a little more at ease watching the kid and Tucker sign back and forth to one another. It's the quietest it's ever been at work, and Caboose wishes Junior were always here. 

Tucker finally gets Junior to sit down and do his homework, and the rest of the shift passes quietly. 

"Do you wanna get dinner with us?" Tucker and Junior are standing by the backdoor, and Caboose realizes Junior's backpack has trains on it. "You don't have to, Junior just likes you. He'll understand if you can't." 

All Caboose has wanted all day is to go home and try to sleep, but Junior is a shockingly comforting presence, and he wants more of that. He nods and hangs up his apron. 

"Awesome. You need a ride?"

"Yes."

"Not a problem, dude."

 

 

 

It's a little bit of a problem, considering Tucker's car is really fucking tiny, and Caboose is crammed into the front seat with sixteen coloring books and shoe box of cassette tapes. But the car is quiet. It's so incredibly _quiet_ and Caboose knows on some other day, all on his own, he could fall asleep here, coloring books at all. 

But he's also hungry. 

"You like breakfast food for dinner?" Caboose nods. "Sweet. Junior digs the pancakes here." If it's good enough for a nine year old, then it's good enough for Caboose. He ends up sitting across from the two of them in the booth, the menu in his hands, not really knowing what any of it says. He thinks he wants eggs, but he also thinks he wants waffles. He could get both. There's too many choices, there's too much--

Junior reaches across the table and taps the menu where it says _blueberry pancakes_. Caboose looks over at him and the kid just keeps tapping the menu, his face insistent. "He's helping you order," Tucker explains. "He thinks you'd like those."

"Oh. I'll...I'll get that then. Thank you, Junior." 

Junior signs something. "He says--"

"Hey there! I was wondering where you two had gone." Caboose looks up and finds the waitress standing over their table -- well, as tall as she can, he figures. She's tiny, but she looms big, and she makes Caboose feel small. In a good way. "Who's your friend?"

"This is Caboose. Church hired him last week."

"I'm Sheila," she says, pointing at her nametag. "Are you guys ready to order?"

Caboose suddenly freezes. He'd forgotten this part, the part where you tell someone what you want to eat. It should be easy, right? It should just be, _I'll have the blueberry pancakes, with extra syrup._ It should be so incredibly easy, but he can't. He can't even look at her anymore, because he feels like all he'll be able to say is _Wow you're pretty_ and his therapist told him he needed to not say the first things that came to his head. 

Whatever silence settles after she asks them is filled when Tucker just orders for the table. And Sheila doesn't think it's weird, and Caboose is relieved that he didn't even have to ask. That Tucker just knew what he needed and did it. Junior takes out a coloring book from his backpack and starts to fill in the lines. He pushes another one across the table to Caboose and puts his crayons in the middle.

Tucker laughs. "Man, he really likes you."

Caboose smiles. Junior smiles, too. 

It's nice when someone gets you.

 

 

 

"Anyway, Caboose is in love with Sheila."

"What?"

Tucker is setting some bear claws into the pastry cabinet. "You heard me."

"I feel like he doesn't agree with you," Church says, flipping through the newspaper. "Someone's selling a couch. Pretty cheap."

"I am not in love with Sheila."

"Dunno. You actually ordered for yourself last night."

Yes, Caboose has been getting dinner with Tucker and Junior a few nights a week for the past month. And, yes, last night he finally looked Sheila in the eyes, ordered blueberry pancakes and even got the extra syrup he'd been wanting.

But that doesn't mean he's in love with her.

"That doesn't mean he's in love with her." Church sounds bored, and the day has been slow since it started raining. "You might be in love with her."

"Nope. She's not my type."

"Do you know Caboose's type?"

"Nah, but I'm pretty sure he's into Sheila."

"Tucker, you don't know anything about anyone."

"If you'd been there last night, you'd--"

" _I am standing right here._ " Caboose's voice is louder than he wanted it to be, and Church stops reading his paper. "Sorry. Sorry I need to go outside. I'm sorry." He shoulders the door to the back open, even as Tucker is shouting at him that it's raining, but it doesn't matter. He stands under the awning outside and puts his hand out, letting it fill with water. He hasn't seen this much rain in a while, and it feels good. Makes him want to stand under it, let it soak in, let it build up inside of him.

"Hey." 

Caboose looks over and realizes Grif is standing there, cigarette in hand. The sandwich shop doesn't have an awning over the back, so Grif's here instead, leaning against the wall, blowing smoke into the air between them. "You want one?" Caboose shakes his head. "Slow day, huh? Rain does that around here. People are like, oh fuck it's raining, better cancel everything and hide under the fucking couch. Dipshits. You know, if they'd been where we'd been, they'd fucking appreciate the rain." He drops his cigarette and stamps it out. "Gotta go back." Caboose nods and watches him cross the street, ducking his head against the storm. 

It takes Caboose a moment to realize Grif didn't ask if he was okay.

When he goes back inside, Tucker is looking sheepish and Church apologizes for upsetting him, asks him if he wants the rest of the day off. 

"No. I'm fine." He gets a mop and goes to clean up the rainwater mess by the front door. 

_If they'd been where we'd been._

Those are heavy words, Caboose knows. Grif must know it, too. He doesn't seem like a talker, because Caboose can spot them. Simmons talks to fill the space, he knows that. Like he's afraid if he's quiet too long the universe will collapse. He's met Donut, who talks because he loves it, and because he loves people. Grif's a brooder. Caboose doesn't consider himself a brooder, but he knows he must look it. And maybe that's why Grif talks to him, sometimes, when they're outside. Maybe he does it because he knows exactly what to say. How long the conversation should be. Caboose is mopping the same spot over and over, not thinking, completely lost, when the door opens and she's standing right there.

"Hi." Caboose looks up and totally over Sheila's head. She pushes herself on her toes and waves. "Hi, Caboose."

"Uh. Hello." They just stand there, Caboose holding the mop way too close to her feet. He realizes what he's doing and backs up, bumping the mop bucket and almost tipping it all onto the floor. "Sorry. Sorry."

"It's okay." She waves at Tucker and Church behind the counter and excuses herself. "I've got a long shift tonight. Church's brew is basically the best in town."

"You're only saying that because you love me."

"No, I love your coffee. And your girlfriend. She says _hi_ , by the way. She hasn't seen you in two days." Church scowls and ducks back into his office. "They're having a thing," she explains. Caboose nods.

"Fuckin' tell me about it," Tucker mutters. "He's been bitching all day. You want sweetener?"

"Yes, please." Sheila leans against the counter and watches Caboose put the mop away. "Do you like it here?"

"Um. Yes."

"Tucker's a decent guy to work with I guess." 

"Yeah. He's. Yeah." 

"Well it's good you found these guys. They're the best in town."

"Mmhm."

Tucker is standing behind the counter, holding Sheila's coffee while she and Caboose have an incredibly one-sided conversation in which Caboose continues to just make noises and she asks questions. Finally, she turns and grabs her coffee, reaching in her bag for some cash. "Nah, beat it. It's on us today."

"Tucker, you can't keep giving me coffee. I make you pay for pancakes."

"You make me pay for _my_ pancakes, but you haven't charged me for my kid since you met us." Sheila flushes and crams the money back into her bag. "Busted, lady."

"Whatever, Tucker." She pulls the hood of her coat up and looks outside. "Okay, here we go. Bye, Caboose. Have a good day." 

And then she does this thing where she brushes her fingers against his elbow, and it's the smallest, shortest touch he's ever felt, but it sends something through him like a live wire, and he feels it even after she's gone. Church comes out from the back and leans forward on the counter, watching Caboose as his eyes trail after her, lingering on the spot where she disappears long after she's gone.

When he turns back, they're both staring at him, grinning.

"You may not love her, but you definitely got bit." 

"I hate you," Caboose says, and trips over the mop bucket.

 

 

 

From what Caboose understands, Church and his girlfriend are in love and meant to be, but they fight, like, all the time.

"Honestly, it's insane," Tucker says. "She's like, super cool and super hot and I don't understand what she sees in Church."

"Church is nice," Caboose says. He makes himself and Junior some tea and sets it down at the table.

"Church is a dick. He's nice, but he's a dick." Caboose shrugs. He gets what Tucker is saying, but Church is nice to him, so he's not going to complain much. He still hasn't met Tex, which is apparently not her name, even though the coffee shop was something she and Church did together. "Whatever. They're like, in love, or some shit. But they're both too mean to each other to figure it out."

"Mmhm." Caboose doesn't know what to say. He hasn't been with someone since before he left, and it wasn't incredibly serious. He takes some crayons from Junior and starts coloring, spacing out as Tucker continues to babble. There's no point in listening to him, because he's not doing it to be heard, he's just doing it to do it. Junior points to one of the pages and Caboose colors what he wants him to. 

"Anyway, she's coming by here today, I think they're doing okay now." 

Caboose looks up. "When?"

"Dunno. Soon? Later? Church didn't--"

The door swings open and a woman with long blonde hair and a look on her face that Caboose recognizes from years of being shouted down at by his CO's comes in. It's still raining, but she still manages to look perfect. Caboose stands, practically at attention, and doesn't know why. She looks at him. "You're Caboose."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Where's Church?"

"In his office." She nods and ruffles Junior's hair before heading into the back. Tucker suddenly appears from under the counter, watching her go. 

"She scares me."

Church and Tex are not fighting anymore, apparently, because they spend half an hour in his office definitely having sex. You can only hear it if you go in the back, so Tucker keeps Junior seated at the table and placates him with more napkins to draw on until they come out. Caboose feels embarrassed for them, considering they just don't even give a shit. 

"You met Caboose?"

"I did. He was very helpful." Tex smiles and kisses Church on the cheek before heading out. "See you tonight?"

"Definitely." 

Tex turns back and waves at Caboose and Junior. "I know you're behind the counter, Tucker."

"Just stocking lids." His hand pops up and waves back. When she's gone, Church goes behind the counter and makes himself a cup of coffee. "You guys are nasty."

"Hey, man, if the moment's right."

"Dude. My kid is here."

"Oh." Church looks over at the table where Junior is definitely not paying attention to him. "Sorry." He goes back into his office. "You two get behind the counter. We're gonna get the post-work rush." Tucker sighs and takes Junior into the back, setting him up on a bucket with a book on top, with strict instruction to do homework and not listen to music the whole time. Church comes back and starts cleaning the tables as the first wave of customers roll in.

Caboose has only been on the register a few times, but he's starting to get the hang of it. He realized pretty quickly that he could get by with asking as few questions as possible, and that's definitely made it easier on him. Sometimes it's soothing, just pushing buttons, counting change, saying the same thing when people go. It's exhausting, more exhausting than making the drinks, but it goes quickly. 

Church is always behind the counter during a rush, doing drinks, heating the food. He told Caboose once he'd never ask them to do anything he wouldn't do, and it shows when he works with them. He backs Caboose up when the words don't come out right, or takes over when he knows Caboose is getting close to losing it.

Today isn't bad. Today is going pretty well, actually. Caboose gets into the groove of the register, pushing the buttons, swiping cards. No one ever orders anything too complex, and honestly most folks are pretty patient with him. 

Except for this one guy. 

He's never been in before, so the first drink he orders, they don't make. Church doesn't do a lot of flavors and he doesn't do anything frozen. Okay, whatever, the guy orders something else. 

"We don't have a veinte," Caboose manages.

" _Fine._ I'll have a large. Do you have that?"

"Uh-huh." He puts it in.

"Half-caf, too," the man says.

"Oh." Caboose looks at the register. There's no button for that. He doesn't think they do that. He wants to ask Church, but someone needs three croissants, and Tucker is swearing at the steamer. "Okay. So. Half-caf. That's--"

"Jesus _Christ_ are you stupid or something?" 

Caboose looks up, and the man's face is the angriest face he's ever seen. He doesn't understand why. It's just coffee. Caboose is new at this. Why doesn't he get it? Why doesn't he understand? 

And now he's snapping his fingers in Caboose's face, _hard_ , like that's gonna fucking _help_ or something. "I asked you, dumbass. Are you fucking stupid?"

" _Hey._ " Church is suddenly _there_ , suddenly close and upfront and just _there_. He's not as tall or big as Caboose or even the guy in line, but when he's mad, like, _really_ fucking mad -- he gets big. "Who the fuck said you could talk to my employee that way?"

"Maybe if he wasn't a fucking idiot--"

"Nope. Not happening today buddy. You're out of here."

"I'm a paying customer, you asshole--"

"Actually, you're a leaving customer, because if I wanted to hear people talk shit to my workers, I'd fucking stand there and listen to it." Church comes around the corner and points to the door. "You leave now, and I won't call the cops."

"You got no right--"

"I got every right, now _beat it_." 

The man looks like he's going to say something else, but all he does is walk out, middle fingers held high because this is middle school apparently, and Caboose just forgot or something. 

Church comes back around and looks at him. "Are you okay?" Caboose shakes his head. "You wanna go home?" 

The short answer is yes, because Caboose always wants to go home, and Church is always telling him not to push his limits, to stay where he can breathe and keep cool. 

But if he leaves, he'll go home and it'll stew. It'll end up building on his bones until he can't move. 

"I can stay." 

"You wanna make drinks?"

"Yes."

"Okay." Church takes over the register and Caboose gets an encouraging nudge from Tucker.

It feels good, the contact. The words. Being here with these guys, like they're some kind of family. 

It feels kind of like another home.

 

 

 

Junior ends up giving Caboose his own set of coloring books for the shop and they spend Caboose's break when Junior's in there filling them in, everything quiet and comforting. He's starting to pick up on some of Junior's sign language, too, and sometimes they can communicate with just a few motions. Caboose likes the feeling. 

"No, buddy, we can't go to dinner with Caboose. Gramma wants us to come over tonight." Junior is upset and signing quickly. Tucker shakes his head. "We're gonna have to do it another night. We promised, remember?" 

"Tomorrow," Caboose says. Wait, he knows the sign for this. He signs, _tomorrow_ , and Junior's face lights up. 

"You can come with us," Tucker offers, when Junior's gone back to get his bag. "If you want. There's gonna be a lot of people there, though."

"I'm okay." Caboose hands Junior his crayons when he comes back, sliding them into the side pocket of the train bag. "Have fun, though." He waves as they both go, and heads into the back to clock out. Church is on the phone with Tex, so Caboose just knocks and waves, gets a smile in return. It's been a few days since the incident, which is all they'll call it, but it's something that brought them closer together, and Caboose is glad he stayed. 

The only problem now is he wants pancakes. The diner isn't too far of a walk from the coffee shop, so he starts heading up the street without thinking, only realizing when he's at the door that he's going in without Tucker and Junior for the first time, going to talk to Sheila on his own for the first time. 

Last week, Tucker ordered for him. It's like it's always one step forward, two more back.

But he goes in. If he's honest with himself, he really wants to see Sheila. And he's not really good at being honest with himself.

"Where are your boys?"

"At a thing," he says. He has no idea what they're doing, honestly, but Sheila gets it.

"You want your usual?" Caboose nods. "Comin' right up." 

She's the only one working, but the diner is mostly empty. She gets him an orange juice and doesn't bother him. This is their first time actually alone together, no one else watching, and Caboose wonders if she's just not ready to deal with him, all on his own. He knows he's a lot. 

"So I heard there was kind of a commotion the other day."

"Sort of."

"Tex and I are friends. I guess Church was pretty busted up about it. He gets kind of protective over the people he hires, you know? He cares about you guys, even if he's not the best at showing it." Caboose nods and she sets the pancakes in front of him. "Are you feeling better?"

"I am." Then, "Thank you. For asking."

"Yeah, of course." Sheila stands there for a moment, and they watch one another. There's no mop bucket between them, now, just a table and an ocean full of all the things Caboose wishes he could tell her. "Sorry. I'll just...you just let me know if you need something."

"I will." _I need to tell you that everything you say to me matters._ "Thank you."

Sheila nods and heads off to fill more coffee cups and ring up a tab. Caboose eats slowly, because he enjoys watching her work. She's so quick and she moves like she was born here. Considering he knows nothing about her, maybe she was. He shakes his head. No, that's silly. He shouldn't think things like that. He shouldn't--

"Hey, Caboose?" He looks up and she's standing there with a purse. "I've gotta go. Another waitress will take care of your tab, though."

"Oh. Oh, okay." He doesn't know why he's disappointed, it's not like she was only here for him. "Right."

Sheila chews on her bottom lip, which is freaking _cute_ , holy crap, and he flushes, hiding his face behind his glass. "I could...I could wait, though. If you, you know. If you wanted to do something."

"Um."

"I mean we don't have to, but I just...I could--"

"I would like that." 

Sheila smiles. Caboose likes that he can make her do that.

 

 

 

She doesn't mind driving or doing all the talking. The rain let up the morning before, so they go to a park and walk around. Caboose gets her an ice cream cone, when she makes a noise of longing as they pass the vendor. It's like he imagined dates when he was a kid. Except this isn't a date -- at least he doesn't think so.

Or maybe it is. She doesn't ask him a lot of questions, though, which doesn't bother him. Talking to Sheila is easy, but he's worried about the things he'll say. She does ask him about his folks, though. That he can talk about.

"My mom and dad live in Missouri. I have a lot of sisters."

"You're the only boy?" 

"Mmhm. In the middle. Mom says it's because God was trying to keep my old man from going crazy, but I think it was just bad timing." Sheila laughs and Caboose smiles. He realizes he doesn't do that around people who aren't Junior. He also realizes this is the most he's said to anyone outside the coffee shop, and it feels good and exhausting all at once. "Do you have siblings?"

"Nope. It's just me. My parents emigrated from Mexico, and I was born in LA. They were busy people, so they just stuck with me."

"That doesn't seem like a bad thing to be stuck with."

"Well I'm glad someone thinks that." Her tongue is bright pink against the ice cream, even in the dark. Caboose watches her eat and wonders what the inside of her mouth tastes like, now. She glances at him and he looks away. "Why do you do that?" she asks.

"Do...do what?"

"Watch me and then act like you aren't."

"I don't--"

"I don't mind."

"I don't want to be rude," he finishes. Sheila nods, eating the rest of her ice cream and standing still in front of him. She's close, and he knows there's something going through her mind as she's standing there. Caboose wants her close and also doesn't. He wants her there and also wants her gone, because he's scared he'll say something dumb, or she'll find out what everyone else except her and Tucker and Church seem to know -- what that asshole knew, standing in front of the register with his stupid phone in his hand.

That he's inept. That he can't live the way he could before. That maybe he's always been this way, completely and totally useless to everyone around him. He sometimes feels like if he could get to that door, the one that closed on him so long ago, he'd find himself on the other side.

Sometimes, he _knows_ that's what he'd find.

"Caboose. Can I kiss you?"

"Huh?" 

"I like you. But I don't want to scare you. I don't want to move too fast and freak you out. But I also want to kiss you." 

"Me."

"Yes. You."

"Um. Are you sure you want to?"

"I am."

"Like. Like you're really sure."

"Caboose."

He feels her hand hold onto his jacket, drawing him closer. This is okay, he realizes. She can be close, because he wants her there. Caboose leans down, his hand gravitating to the back of her neck -- so small, he realizes, so small in his giant, goofy, clumsy hands -- and draws her in. 

It's been three years since he kissed someone. He's definitely beyond rusty, but Sheila doesn't seem to mind. She grips his jacket tighter, making a tiny noise against his mouth as he slides his tongue against hers, both hands behind her neck, now. She steps on his boots to get higher, but he doesn't feel it. All he feels are her arms wrapping around his waist, her breath quickening against his mouth, his heart hammering in his chest. There is so much _here_ that they could do, so much between them that there could be, and suddenly the idea of it is almost too much. He pulls back.

"I..."

"Are you okay?"

"Yes. No. Both?" She nods and leads him to a bench. He breathes the way he's learned and she puts a hand on his shoulder. "Sorry."

"Don't be. You're really good at that."

"Freaking out?"

"No. Kissing."

"Oh. Well. That's very nice of you to say." Caboose flushes again and she laughs. "So are you."

"I really like you," she says. Caboose didn't expect that. "I know that...I know things are hard for you, right now. I don't understand it, it didn't happen to me, but...but I know that you're going through some stuff. I don't want to be something that gets in the way of whatever it is you're doing for you--"

"You aren't a something," he says. "You're someone."

"Caboose." She cups his cheek.

"I know what you're saying." Then, "I am good at going slow."

"Yeah?"

"Yes. Very." He angles himself toward her and takes her other hand in his. "Can I kiss you again?"

She pulls herself closer, pressing their lips together. 

She tastes like vanilla.

 

 

 

Caboose isn't sure what to call what they start doing, but labels were always the hardest thing about anyone in his life, so he just doesn't talk about it. Tucker never asks if he went to the diner without them, and when they go the next night, Sheila isn't there. The whole thing doesn't come up until a week later -- Caboose is mopping again and she comes in out of the rain, pulling off her hood and catching him. "Oh, you are here. Is that all you do? Mop?"

"I'm very good at it." He glances at the counter, but Tucker isn't there. "Do you want something?"

"No, actually. I, um." She steps closer to him. "I came to talk to you. Some of my friends are going out tonight. Did you want to come?" 

"Where?"

"A few bars downtown."

"I don't drink."

Sheila smiles. "It's okay, you don't have to. I'd just like to spend some time with you." 

"How many friends?"

"Four?"

Caboose looks at his feet. "That's a lot of friends." _Bars are crowded. I can't drink. I shouldn't go._ "What time?"

"I'll get you around eight?" He nods. "Good. Great. Okay. Um--" She kisses his cheek, carefully, and Caboose smiles, pulling her back in to kiss her properly. "Alright, I'll see you tonight." She grins and rushes back out into the rain, pulling her hood up as she goes. Caboose watches after her, his cheek still burning.

"Oh man, it finally happened." The door to the back swings open and Church comes out. "Dude, you did it." Tucker comes up from behind the counter and Caboose scowls, feeling a little betrayed.

"You're both very nosy."

"Man, I've been _waiting_ for you to do _something._ " Tucker rests his chin in his hands. "She a good kisser? I bet she is."

"That's none of your business."

"He's so embarrassed, she totally is. Man, good for you Caboose. Seriously."

Tucker stands up straight. "You sure you wanna go out with her friends tonight though?"

"Not really."

"Dude, you gotta be careful. Don't do stuff just to make her happy. You'll both be better off if you're honest with her about what you can handle." Tucker shakes his head. "Trust me, I've made that mistake before. It didn't turn out so good."

"I'll be fine," Caboose says, but it sounds weak even to him. Tucker shrugs.

"Okay. If you say so. Call me if you need a ride home, though. I'm serious. That's what we're here for. Me and Junior'll come bail you out. Hashtag _lifesave_ , right Church?"

"If you use the word _hashtag_ in a sentence again, I'll fire you."

 

 

 

Caboose is standing in the middle of the bar holding a Diet Coke and trying not to scream. He wants to, and honestly he's pretty sure no one would hear him. Sheila is having a good time, and she keeps checking over her shoulder to make sure he's happy, asking if he's okay. He should have told her this was a bad idea, he should have said no, but admitting Tucker is right kind of bothers him. He _wants_ to be okay, and if he wants it bad enough, then he'll get it, right?

"Dude, you're a fuckin' _hero_ ," one of her friends says, and grabs Caboose's arm. It takes every ounce of willpower not to punch him in the face. "Like, seriously." He lets go when Caboose doesn't answer, just stares at him because looking at him makes him less of a real person and more of a thing he can ignore. "I'm, uh. I need another beer. You want one man?"

"I don't drink."

"Of course you don't. Be back." 

Caboose turns to Sheila. "I need to go outside."

"Are you okay?"

"I just...I need some air."

"I think it's raining out--"

"I'll be fine." He kisses her forehead and starts heading out of the bar, squeezing through the door they came in and nearly stumbling onto the sidewalk. Caboose realizes he isn't going to be able to go back inside, which sucks because he needs to tell Sheila he's going. He should have said no, and now he's going to look like a dick for ditching her -- but going back in just isn't an option.

Neither is calling Tucker, so he can listen to him talk about how he needs to know his limits and whatever. Caboose wants to tell Tucker that at least he's got people. At least there are people in his life who care and give a shit about him. Who does Caboose have?

"Hey man."

Caboose looks up and sees Grif leaning against the wall of the bar, cigarette in his hand. "Hi."

"You look like hell. What'd you drink?"

"Diet Coke."

"Aspartame gives you brain tumors. You need a ride home?" Caboose nods and Grif motions toward the parking lot. "Simmons and Donut left an hour ago, but I thought I was gonna get laid so I stayed. Didn't pan out. You just tell me where to turn, okay?"

"You don't want to stay?"

"Nah, man. Everyone in there is, like, twenty-one. Fucking psychology major or some shit. Mind numbing. Sorry there's a bunch of junk in here." He tosses some papers into the backseat and clears out the water bottles. "I'm gonna smoke," he adds, and Caboose just nods. He tells him where to turn and Grif backs out of the lot. 

**caboose:** i need to go, a friend is giving me a ride home

"You come here with someone?"

"She knows I'm gone."

"What, were you like on a date or something?"

"I was meeting her friends."

"How'd that go?"

"Not well."

 **sheila:** are you okay?  
**caboose:** just tired  
**sheila:** okay. talk tomorrow?  
**caboose:** of course

Grif doesn't talk much as they drive. He offers Caboose a cigarette, not offended when he says no. The radio is low and there's a car commercial playing, but neither of them changes it. Grif idles at a red light, glancing over into the passenger seat. "Bars are tough. Lot of people. The lighting always sucks, too."

"It smells."

"Mmhm." 

"People ask too many questions." Questions give him headaches.

Grif laughs. "Man, you are so fuckin' right."

 

 

 

Sheila comes back into the shop the next morning, looking sheepish and sad. "I'm really, _really_ sorry."

"Let's go outside." Caboose doesn't want Tucker to hear, honestly, but he also isn't interested in doing this where customers can hear either, because he doesn't want the regulars asking questions. They're always asking questions. "Why are you sorry?" he asks, shutting the back door behind him.

"I shouldn't have invited you out. I should have done something with just us, or waited until later, I don't know."

As much as it pains him to use Tucker's words, Caboose knows they're right. "I should have known my limits. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings." He takes her hand in his. 

"You didn't. I just got excited."

"About meeting your friends?"

"I know they'll love you, when they know you better."

"I feel like they won't." 

Sheila shakes her head. "Let's not worry about them. Let's...let's do us, first. Figure them out later."

"Okay." Caboose smiles and leans down to kiss her. "You're going to be late for work."

"I know. I'll talk to you later though?" He nods. "Okay. Okay, good." She pushes herself up and kisses him one more time before heading out. 

Back inside, Tucker is busy trying to fix the grinder, but he still has time to give Caboose an _I told you so_ speech about Sheila. "She won't dump you just because you're not ready to hang out with her pals or whatever. You're a good dude, man. You're totally worth it."

"I don't want to talk about it anymore."

"Okay. I'm just saying--"

Caboose closes his eyes and breathes. "Stop saying things."

Tucker nods and goes back to fixing the grinder. 

This doesn't, of course, stop Tucker from saying things when Caboose isn't around. Junior is so excited Sheila and Caboose are together, he starts drawing pictures of them and bringing them to the diner for Sheila to look at. Tex gives him some advice on things Sheila likes, how she is -- "She loves sunflowers. She hates when dudes stare at her chest. She's tiny, but she's always the biggest person in the room." -- and Church has some coupons around the office somewhere, he's sure of it. You know, for dinners and shit.

"Also, dude. You ever need condoms, there's like, fifty at any one time in this bottom drawer."

"I wish you hadn't told me that," Caboose says, refusing to look at the desk. Sex seems incredibly overwhelming right now, but suddenly he's thinking about it, and how Sheila might expect it, after a certain period of time. He doesn't _know_ this of course, but he assumes it, and honestly, Caboose should know better. Assuming anything has only ever gotten him into trouble. 

"It's just between us. Don't tell Tucker."

"I will not." 

Church grins. "Good. Replace what you take, though," he adds. Caboose nods, because wow he's actually serious about this, and gets back behind the counter. Sometimes Church is terrifying, and Caboose knows why he and Tex are so good together. 

And, of course, now he's thinking about sex. About the last time he had sex, how incredibly _not ready_ he is to have sex. How when people date, they sometimes have sex. How he doesn't know how Sheila feels about sex, but it may come up, sooner rather than later. It's not like Caboose doesn't like it, he definitely does -- it's just that getting in and out of bed is sometimes really hard. He can't really imagine doing anything else in it. He can't imagine himself having sex at all without getting exhausted. 

Or getting a boner. Awesome. Really. Just fuckin' great.

Except once he starts thinking about it, he can't stop. Every conversation he has with Sheila now is colored by it, even if he knows that it isn't about that. Like, at all. Suggestions seem more suggestive, offers to have dinner and watch TV carry a different weight. Caboose _should not have sex_ and he knows this. Big red _do not attempt_ sign on top of the idea -- but he's hoping maybe Sheila can convince him otherwise when the time comes. 

Except the time comes a lot sooner than he's ready for. 

He's ready for the making out. That he likes. It's easy with her, and she's small and can lie on his chest for hours and he doesn't feel a thing. He feels too big for her sofa, though, and she crawls into his lap one night, the motion of her hips against his obvious and intentional. Caboose almost gets lost in it, too, his hands on her thighs and under her skirt, gasping into her mouth. He's definitely hard, and his body definitely wants her, but every part of him -- except his dick -- knows it's a bad idea.

"Slower," he manages, pulling back. "Slow. Sorry. We need to...I can't."

"It's okay." Her hair is mussed and her cheeks are red, and Caboose feels guilty because she's beautiful. "It's fine. Can I keep kissing you? I like that."

"I like it, too." She smiles and nods and Caboose kisses her again, feeling her fingers tangle in his hair. He thinks about asking her if he can get her off, maybe watching her come will ease something between them -- but it probably wouldn't. When he leaves, later, she looks satisfied enough and Caboose feels better for a few days. 

When it happens again, he thinks he might be able to do it, but he has to lie to her and tell her he doesn't have a condom, even though Church shoved two into his pocket the other morning. "Sorry," he adds.

"Don't be." Then: "Can you...I mean. Do you want to have some? In case..."

"I can do that." _I can't do that._

"Only if you want to."

"I do." _I definitely want to, I don't think you understand the problem._

"If this is too fast, you need to tell me."

"I will." _I probably won't._

 

 

Caboose hasn't bought condoms in a long time. Honestly, most of the girls he dated took care of it, for some reason. He had them, he just doesn't remember the last time he spent money on, like, an entire box. 

He feels seventeen again. 

Should he buy a magazine? No, that looks weird. He could buy some groceries, but he's in a Walgreens, that's also pretty weird. Maybe he should just not get them. Move away, get a different number. He could go see his folks, that would be good, they've been asking him to visit since he came back. Yeah, and then he could just never leave. It's--

"Hey, Caboose."

He turns around and Tucker is standing behind him, basket filled with coloring books and coffee creamer. "Uh. Hi."

"Are you buying condoms?"

Caboose looks at the box in his hand and shoves it back on the shelf. "I'm looking for cold medicine."

"Liar." Tucker shifts the basket to his other hand and grins. "I'm glad things are going good for you and Sheila."

"Yeah, it's...it's good. You know. Good." 

"Is it?" Tucker frowns. "You said you guys were taking it slow."

"We are." Caboose sighs and grabs the box again. "I mean."

"You shouldn't do stuff you're not ready for. We talked about this."

"I told you I didn't want to talk to you about it."

Tucker nods. "I know. But you're my friend, so I want to make sure you're okay."

"I'm fine."

"You say that a lot," Tucker says. Caboose looks right at him, because what else does he have to say? What else can be said about that?

He says he's fine because if he says anything else, it means being honest. Caboose isn't good at that right now. Especially not with himself.

 

 

 

Caboose should have known right when he woke up that today wasn't his day.

He gets out of bed and nothing feels right. The floor is glass under his feet and the bus ride to work is hellish, one screaming kid after another. Tucker is annoying, Church is an ass, and he just doesn't have the patience for anyone or anything. Halfway through his shift, Church sends him home. 

He misses the bus, because _of course he does._

Walking clears his head though, just a bit, and when he gets home he actually manages to sleep for a few hours, waking up only when his phone goes off around five. 

**sheila:** can i come over?  
**caboose:** you can

She shouldn't, but since when has he ever known what he was doing? He cleans his place up a bit and changes his clothes, making some coffee for the both of them. When he lets her in, she drops her bag on the floor and hauls him toward her. Her teeth press maybe too hard against his mouth, and he should tell her to stop, but this is what he wants.

Right?

Right. It is. He pretends he and Tucker have never talked about this and pulls her into his room. 

"You want this, don't you?" She stops him for a second, looking up. Caboose nods. "Tell me if you don't. Caboose you _have_ to tell me if you don't."

"I do."

Her face softens and she strokes his forehead, brushing the hair away from his face. "Okay." She gives him a little push against the bed and his knees give out. He's always known how beautiful she is, but she's incredible, looking at him like no one has in so long. Caboose desperately _wants_ to do this, there's no question about it. Sheila pulls her dress over her head and Caboose backs up toward the headboard, pulling her with him until she straddles his hips. He sits up, settling her in his lap, fingers trailing over her back. 

_I can do this. I can do this._

He presses his lips to her neck, her collar bone and shoulder -- she smells like work and laundry detergent, something grounded and completely herself all at once. He shudders and he knows he should stop doing this, he should _stop_ because he doesn't want to hurt her, but he wants to disappoint her so much less.

"Hey." She cups his face in her hands. "Caboose. Where'd you go?"

"Hmm?"

"You're drifting."

"I'm...I'm not."

"You are. You're not here. What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

Sheila pulls back and he feels cold. "Caboose."

"I'm fine," he manages, and he sounds like a broken record. _Fine. Fine. Fine. Fine. F--_

She kisses him again and he suddenly feels like he's swallowed a block of ice. There is nothing left here -- he wants her and he doesn't, he needs her and he doesn't. It hurts and it doesn't. Everything is up and it's also down and where her fingers touch his skin, he's terrified he'll bruise. 

When she takes off her bra, he knows it needs to stop.

"No."

"What--"

"I can't." He scrambles away from her probably too fast, and she rolls to her side, folding her arms over her chest. "You need to go."

"Caboose--"

"I can't. You need to go."

"Can you just talk--"

" _You need to go._ " His voice is hard, too hard for this, he shouldn't talk to her like that it isn't her fault. It's his and he should have known better than to get involved with anyone ever again because he is never going to be _fine_.

He feels the door shutting, and he knows he's the one on the other side.

He wishes he hadn't talked himself into thinking she had the key.

 

 

 

He takes the rest of the week off, but it doesn't help. When Caboose goes back to work, he's late and Church is fighting with Tex and taking it out on everyone. He looks at Caboose and tells him to get it together, because he's not putting up with any bullshit today. Caboose responds as delicately as possible by dumping coffee beans on the floor. 

"Pick those up in the next five minutes or you're fired." Church goes back into his office and Caboose gets on his knees. Tucker is sweeping the floor by the door and Junior is in because today is apparently a holiday and he doesn't have school. There's nothing right about what he's doing, on the floor, picking up his mess. He hates this. He hates himself. He wishes he hadn't gotten angry. He wishes Church would fire him. 

Junior suddenly appears in his line of vision, picking up handfuls of beans and putting them into their bag. 

"I'm fine," Caboose says. Junior just shrugs and keeps cleaning. "I don't need help." Junior doesn't answer. "Stop it," Caboose says sternly, but Junior picks up more beans, refuses to make eye contact. Caboose feels his anger starting to bubble over again and it shouldn't, he shouldn't, this shouldn't be happening, but his voice is loud and it just erupts, like everything else has -- "Go _sit down._ " Junior freezes, beans in his hand.

"Do _not_ yell at my kid." Tucker's hands are suddenly grabbing Caboose by his shirt and pulling him up. Junior is still on the floor, watching them both. "Go back to your table, buddy, it's okay." Junior puts the beans in his hand back into the bag and disappears. Caboose wants to throw up. He jerks away from Tucker and does, right into the garbage can behind them. 

He knows exactly what he looks like from where Tucker is standing -- a complete mess, inept and incapable and lost and _alone_. A dick for yelling at Sheila, at Junior. For making a mess at work and never listening to Tucker just because sometimes his voice is annoying and he sounds patronizing and condescending. 

"I'm sorry," he manages.

Tucker sighs and gets him a glass of water. "Come on, man. Drink this. I'll pick up the beans." 

"No." No one cleans up his messes. He'll clean them up himself.

"Church'll be more pissed if you throw up on everything, dude. Just...just relax, okay? Take a break. Go apologize to my kid." Caboose nods and manages to get on his feet. Junior is back at his table, reading a little book for school, his headphones pressed tight in his ear. Caboose taps him on the shoulder.

"Hi."

Junior waves.

"I shouldn't have shouted. I'm very sorry." Junior just watches him, like he's expecting more, and Caboose can't stop himself. "It's really hard, sometimes. And it wasn't your fault. I shouldn't be here if I'm going to be angry. You deserve better. You're always nice to me." Junior puts his book down and gets out of his chair, pulling Caboose's shirt to get him on his knees. "What is it?" Junior signs something, three or four times. The same thing. Caboose mimics him. "I don't know what that means."

"It means family," Tucker says. He comes to the table and sits down. "He says you're family." 

Caboose looks between the two of them, and suddenly Junior is hugging him, his tiny arms wrapped tight around Caboose's neck. Tucker shifts in his chair, but it's okay. It's fine. It's exactly what he needs. Caboose closes his eyes and hugs back. If he cries, a little, no one says anything. 

 

 

 

That night, Caboose is standing in the parking lot outside the diner, watching Sheila get off from work. She pushes open the door and stops when she sees him, standing there, hands full of sunflowers. 

"Hello."

"Hi, Caboose."

"I brought these. They're for you."

She steps closer and sighs heavily, reaching out and taking them. "They're nice."

"I'm sorry," he says. "I should have been honest." She nods. "I care about you. A lot."

"I know."

"When you care about someone, you don't yell at them. It was mean. I was mean. I don't want to be mean to you."

Sheila looks up at him and nods. "I shouldn't have pushed it."

"I should have told you I wasn't ready."

"I guess we both have some work to do, huh?" 

Caboose nods. "We do. I do. And I want to do that with you." 

She clutches the flowers close and presses her nose into them. "I love sunflowers."

"Tex told me."

"Good." She steps closer. "Can I kiss you?"

"Yes." 

"Even better."

 

 

 

There's nothing like a good shift, Caboose realizes one day. Sometimes, he can talk to everyone. Sometimes, it gets better. Even when he feels trapped, locked in and lost, the world keeps spinning. That's the thing -- even when his life seems to come to a screeching halt, everyone else's is still going. 

He hasn't had to step outside to breathe for a few weeks now, so it's been a while since he's seen Grif, or even Simmons. The last time he saw them, they were bickering and taking out the garbage. 

This time, Caboose goes out to set some palettes by the backdoor, not really expecting to see them, since it's getting kind of close to lunch.

But they are definitely making out. 

Simmons looks like he's having some kind of fit when he sees Caboose and practically shoves Grif into the wall. "Hi." Caboose nods. "Um--"

"Dude, it's Caboose. What are you worried about?"

"I--"

"Oh my god _shut up._ " Grif grabs him and pulls him back in. Caboose doesn't stay to watch. He figures Donut will find them soon enough, or the angry man who hired them. Sarge, or something. He once caught Caboose having a panic attack outside the shop and stood watch to make sure he was okay. He's mean, but Caboose knows better. He thinks a lot of people might be that way -- one thing, but another. Something, but also something else. 

Like Church, who pretends he doesn't care about anyone, but when he and Tex are good, they're _really_ good.

Or Tucker, who thinks he's too cool for a lot of things, but colors in one of Junior's books, even when he's not around.

Grif, who is hard and plays rough and snaps and breaks, but looks at Simmons like he has the world.

It's just those things. Little things.

Sheila making sun tea in the summer. Planning Junior's tenth birthday party. Wanting to go back to school.

Things Caboose wants to be there for. Things he knows he'll have to work for. Shit's hard, he knows that. But it's better when you have people who are there for you. He realizes, now, that it was wrong to think anyone else had to key to that door. That Church or Sheila or Tucker -- hell, even Junior -- could open it. It was wrong. 

Because, in the end, the only person with the key is him. 

And knowing something like that changes everything.

**Author's Note:**

> this fic also has a playlist. like wow. it's growing, and all i have for you right now is a spotify link, but please message me at my [tumblr](http://catchbooker.tumblr.com/) if you're interested in a mix or 8track link and i'll make one. i should get hired to speak for spotify, honetly, because i can't recommend it enough. listen to it [here](https://play.spotify.com/user/12137076740/playlist/23Adl7ZRqFFqV40tnkSGCe?play=true&utm_source=open.spotify.com&utm_medium=open).


End file.
